


Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

by eldritchbirds



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritchbirds/pseuds/eldritchbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Song Fic to Cage the Elephant. Arthur, Eames and Ariande take a walk down a not so nice street in Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't No Rest for the Wicked

Description: Arthur takes a slightly disturbing walk down a not so kind road.

 

_I was walking down the street,_

_When out the corner of my eye,_

_I saw a pretty little thing approaching me._

_She said 'I never seen a man, who looked so all alone,_

_Now could you use a little company?_

_If you pay the right price,_

_You're evening will be nice,_

_And you could go and end me on my way."_

_I said, "You're such a sweet young thing,_

_Why you do this to yourself?"_

_She looked at me and this is what she said._

_There ain't no rest for the wicked,_

_Money don't grow on trees._

_I got bills to pay,_

_I got mouths to feed._

_There ain't nothing in this world for free._

_Oh, no I can't slow down,_

_I  can't hold back, oh you know,_

_I wish,_

_I could._

_There ain't no rest for the wicked,_

_Until we close out eyes for good._

 

Ariadne, Eames and I walked down one of the streets in Paris, each sipping a coffee. The bitter-sweetness burned my tongue, but it was a good pick-me-up in the middle of a dreary day. I looked over to my co-workers. Eames was silently spiking his coffee with something.

I didn't ask.

Ariadne seemed fairly oblivious to everything, her big brown eyes turned up to examine the architecture. I was so pre-occupied, I didn't see the girl I ran into. She had managed to squeeze into a simple white dress, and yet, so tight, her bosoms seemed to be magnified, and wobbled precariously. The dress was cut so far up her thigh, I could see the top of stockings - white fishnet - and her shoes were cherry red 5 inch heels; a dash of colour to her pure ensemble, although her expression said all but pure. She smiled at me, and I stoped walking, afraid to run into her. Her teeth were a brilliant white, behind her cherry red lip stick, and her eyes were amber behind her smoky eye shadow.

Leaning back, she took in our little party, her face turning sour at the sight of Ariadne, but she regained her composure.

"Evie." She said, and held out her hand. I shook it, and her glossy red nails grazed me lightly.

"Arthur." I said. Eames leaned in, somewhat eagerly, and took her hand. Being Eames, he kissed her hand. Evie's eyes narrowed, clever and scheming, as a smile played on her painted lips.

"You are?" She asked him withdrawing her hand, and looking pointedly at Eames,

"Call me Eames, ma'am." He said and she let out a false laugh. Ariadne began to look impatient, and she said, if not rather firmly,

"Ariadne. What do you want from us?"

"You three look like you're having a bit of a bad day. There is a party I would love you to join me at. There's an entrance fee, but the act is amazing… So they say." She leaned into my ear, the smell of honey and rose enveloped me,

"If you know what I mean." She whispered. I just blinked in what I hoped was a confused manor. Leaning back, she flipped her auburn hair, and her eyes glinted playfully. My mouth went dry.

"Sweetheart, I'm all for a good party, but why are you doing this? You're young, and gorgeous! Look at you!" Said Eames, gesturing up and down her. Ariadne looked away pointedly, and I tried to do so, but... She seemed to humble somewhat, and ponder this. He had to be joking! It was plain as day what this woman meant.

"You ever gone hungry, Eames?" She asked, a drop of poison entering her words.

"Not really…" He said, sounding slightly ashamed of himself. I finally caught on.

"I have. You work, doing what you like, Eames?" She asked, and he nodded, somewhat sheepishly,

"Well so am I. Think what you will, but it's the world's oldest profession. It was this or a model. The model thing is basically the same, you just get paid less..." She shrugged, and made another face at Ariadne.

"Just in case you get… lonely." She leans in, and slips me a business card, and gives me a good eyeful of cleavage.

With a final flip of her hair, she walks off. It takes both me and Ariadne to drag Eames away.

 

_Not even fifteen minutes later,_

_After walking down the street,_

_When I saw this shadow of a man creep out of sight._

_And then he swept up from behind,_

_He put a gun up to my head,_

_He made it clear he wasn't looking for a fight._

_He said, 'Give me all you got,_

_I want your money, not your life,_

_But if you try and make a move,_

_I won't think twice.'_

_I told him, 'You can have my cash,_

_But first you know I got to ask,_

_What made you want to live this kind of life?'_

_He said there ain't no rest for the wicked,_

_Money don't grow on trees._

_I got bills to pay,_

_I got mouths to feed._

_There ain't nothing in this world for free._

_Oh, no I can't slow down,_

_I  can't hold back, oh you know,_

_I wish,_

_I could._

_There ain't no rest for the wicked,_

_Until we close out eyes for good._

 

It was a good ten minutes since I saw Evie, and Eames walked beside me, grumbling like a child who didn't get candy.  He plucked the card from my hands, only to have me take it back. It looked like he was tossing up between anger  and amusement. Ariadne returned to sipping her coffee and staring at the sky, although she was visibly more angry, since our encounter. I asked her about it, and she said, kind of doubtfully,

"If a guy had come up to me, and offered to… You know… You guys would feel protective… Right?"

"Sweetheart, that is adorable!" Cooed Eames, and Arthur smiled down at her, her expression turned from worried to sceptical.

"Can you honestly say you did not think about going with her?" She said, and Eames opened him mouth, but Ariadne silenced him with a look,

"I know you did, Arthur?"

"Well that's not fair." He said, unable to keep the smile off his face.

"Case and point." She said, and turned to the wall.

"So are you just refusing to walk with us now?" Asked Eames and Ariadne pulled out a scrap of paper.

"No, go on ahead, I'm taking a note on texture of the walls." She said, and the two men walked a little way, before they heard Ariadne's muffled scream, and we turned. The blood drained from my face.

The tattered limbs of a man wound heir way around Ariadne's small form, almost like je was protecting her, but he held the barrel of a gun to her head, and I saw it. He was not protecting her, he was restraining her. He had a thin set of grey pants and top, several holes in each, and the mouldy canvas shoes on his feet were worn through. Although, it was his face that caused most fright in poor Ariadne.

He held his face close to hers, whispering directions, teeth yellow and crack, eyes red and buggy. Cheeks hollow and hair fraying, wild and grey.

"How much money have you got on you?" He growled, patting her down. I wasn't sure if it was for her wallet or something.

"Not much!" She whimpered, and he pressed the gun to her head harder.

"LIAR! Where is the money?!"

"GET OFF HER!" I tried to put as much force as I could into my voice, and began to run towards her. The man had wild and crazed eyes,

"Friends? Don't move! DON'T!" He held Ariadne's face in one hand, and the gun in the other. Sitting behind her, he had the best view of each of us. Her face was squished up as she scrambled in her pockets for her wallet. Her other hand was balled up, white knuckled, enclosing what I knew was her totem. The man snatched the little leather case that held all of Ariadne's financial details, and a bit of cash.

Eames and I stood maybe a metre away from the girl, now helpless, staring at us with her big brown eyes, pleading.

"Help." She whispered, and the man pressed the rusty gun to her lips.

"Shut it, sweetheart." He rasped, and I could see Eames boil with rage. I held onto him, trying to keep my trade mark bored look about me, as he screamed at the man with the gun.

"I get to call her sweetheart! You damn -" I won't enlighten you with Eames's select words, but lets just say he made things worse. Now Ariadne sits, her petite frame cowering in front of a deranged man.

"You said you wanted the money. Take it." I say, calmly. His eyes shift erratically from Eames to I, and he just clutches Ariadne's chin tighter.

"I want you're money." He says, and licks his lips greedily.

"The wallets, now. Or she dies." He reminded me severely of Gollum in Lord of the Rings.

"WALLETS!" He barked, and shakes Ariadne's head. I pull the few bills out of my wallet, and return it to my pocket, before handing him the money. Eames was grumbling.

"No Evie, no money."

"Is this it? You in ya swanky suits?" He glared at me, and I pressed my lips together.

"So why do you want our money?" I ask. Ariadne shoots me a venomous look, but it is out of my mouth before I can stop it. The man counts the money whilst talking.

"Money, gotta buy, gotta survive. Survive without food? No. Need money. More." He snarled, but let go of Ariadne.

"This never happened." Said the man, still crouched on the ground, before bounding away.

Ariadne ran into my arms, holding me tightly, before Eames cleared his throat. She smiled, and let go of me, giving Eames a large hug. He seemed less whiney. We continued to walk down the road, Ariadne massages her neck, and I crumple Evie's card into a ball, and toss it into the trash. To his credit, Eames did not go through the garbage can.

 

_Well now a couple hours passed,_

_I was sitting in my house,_

_The day was winding down and coming to an end,_

_So I turned over to the TV,_

_Flipped it over to the news,_

_And what I saw I almost couldn't comprehend._

_I saw a preacher man in cuffs,_

_He's taken money from the church,_

_He'd stuffed his bank account with righteous dollar bills._

_And even still I can't say much_

_Because I know we're all the same,_

_Oh yes, we all seek out to satisfy those thrills._

_There ain't no rest for the wicked,_

_Money don't grow on trees._

_We got bills to pay,_

_We got mouths to feed._

_There ain't nothing in this world for free._

_Oh, no we can't slow down,_

_We can't hold back, oh you know,_

_We wish,_

_We could._

_There ain't no rest for the wicked,_

_Until we close out eyes for good._

 

I pull the keys out of the ignition, and open the door.

I'm home, in the garage of my apartment.

Finally.

I pull the silver PASIV briefcase from the back seat, and my wallet, from where it had fallen out of my back pocket, onto the diver seat. I flick my wrist over my shoulder, pressing the button that locks the door. I hear the *beep beep* that tells me the car is locked.

I held the PASIV in one hand, and punched the button of my floor. During the ride, I tuck the wallet back into my pocket, and tightened my grip on the silver briefcase.

*Ding* 

My stop. The doors jump apart, and I am face to face with my neighbour, Miss Jordon. We exchange small talk, before I manoeuvre myself out of the lift.

"Stay away from that Mr Eames fellow." She said, and waved her finger sternly. I nodded, but once the doors closed, I shook my head.

_Would if I could._

I push the key into my door, and turned it until it clicked.

All was silent as I entered my little apartment. Of course, it really isn't my apartment. I rent it. It's my Paris apartment. I pour myself a snifter of brandy, and loosen the tie constricting my airway.

"Well, let's see what's on." I mutter to myself, and sit in the brown leather comfy chair in front of my TV. Taking a sip of my drink, I channel hop. 

Boring, boring, boring. I finally flick around to the news channel. I do a double take, seeing one of our clients being taken in for espionage. As it turns out, he had been taking money from the company to furnish his house. I rub the red spots on my wrist self consciously, but shrug, nonchalantly. I look from the TV to the PASIV, which I had placed onto the mahogany kitchen bench. Laughing softly to myself, I flick the TV off. I look through the papers Eames had given me, and finish my brandy with a final gulp. I place the cup in the sink, and rinse it out.

Walking into my bedroom, I sit at my small wooden desk, and pull out my laptop, deciding to make a note of the client.

**Mr Tajikil - in Jail.**

Flicking through the other job offers, my mind flits back to today.

Evie and the man.

Neither one of them is doing the best for themselves, but is what I do any less dangerous? I think, and it occurs to me, whether or not it's legal, it pays a hell of a lot better. Once I've sorted that out, I get the PASIV and prop it up on my desk. I still am not sure if I am doing the best for my self, which is stupid, because I am the point man! I am meant to be sure of myself.

"Hell of a lot better." I remind myself quietly, before lying it down, and going back to my laptop. Every so often I glance across to it, lying, it's cool metal case taunting me in my state of deliberation.

I roll my dice. Once. Twice. Three times. Curling it up in my palm, I rest my head against the desk. Is this all real? Evie and her 'party'. I supress a smile. The threat on Ariadne's life? My smile shrivels and dies, wilts like a flower. Oh, it was real, she knew it and I knew it. I can't blame anyone. Five people single handily destroyed a world wide organisation, and we invade people's dreams. We are all criminals, no better than the scavenging man with the gun. Desperate.

I reply to few emails, and smile. We single handily destroyed a company. What other 26 year olds can say that? Ariadne. Beside the point. She helped. The smile makes me laugh, and I lean back in my chair, arms behind my head. I yawn, and brush my fingertips over the puncture wounds in my wrist, before looking at the PASIV. 

"Hell of a lot better."





End file.
